Ryan wasn’t oblivious. He was Ryan-oblivious.

Which was worse.

You’d been dropping hints for weeks—offering to help at the Black Lantern more than necessary, laughing a little too hard at his awkward jokes, “accidentally” brushing your hand against his when passing him a coffee. Subtle, maybe. But not invisible.

Unless you were dealing with a guy whose brain short-circuited every time someone flirted with him.

Steph figured it out in three seconds.

You were restocking flower buckets outside the shop when she leaned against the railing, sipping an energy drink like she hadn’t just interrupted your day to instigate chaos.

—“Sooo… how long have you had the hots for Forest Boy?”

You dropped a rose stem.

—“I don’t—”

—“Please. You look at him like he hung the stars and also accidentally set himself on fire with them. It’s cute.”

You didn’t answer, which was enough answer.

That’s when the “coincidences” started. You’d show up at the Lantern, and Steph had “just texted” Ryan to help with something in the back. He’d emerge, confused, face flushed, wiping his hands on a towel like he’d just been wrangling wild bears, and Steph would vanish.

Or she’d drag you into board game night—Ryan included, obviously—and mysteriously pair you up for any team-based game. Every. Single. Time.

One afternoon, Ryan finally pulled you aside, brows knit together like he was solving a murder.

—“Hey, so… Steph keeps saying weird stuff. Like... ‘Stop breaking their heart with your dumb treeface.’”

You blinked.

He rubbed the back of his neck.

—“Should I… apologize? For breaking something?”

God help him.